


Shinzen Kekkon

by chronicAngel



Series: Leaves in the Summer [7]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, POV Third Person, Shinto, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: "With these prayers and these rings, Uchiha Fugaku and Uchiha Mikoto are no longer man and woman, but husband and wife."





	Shinzen Kekkon

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!

Many of the things about Mikoto's wedding match what she envisioned for herself as a child.

She wears a clean white and red kimono, her clan's colors as well as the colors of purity, newly made especially for her by the same seamstress who has made the inaugural cloak for all three Hokage. Her sister and cousins gossip only a few meters away from her wearing matching irotomesode in a shade of grey she imagines would be darker if it wouldn't step on Uchiha Yuko's toes, their eyes sliding to her betrothed every few minutes in a very unsubtle way of letting her know what they're talking about. The fabric of the uchikake that she will be putting on in a matter of minutes is soft against her fingers, vibrant shades of red and rich blues.

The only thing that's wrong is that she doesn't love her husband-to-be.

People say, of course, that those who come together in passion will stay together in tears, but she'd always hoped that she might have a marriage arranged with a man who she could stand to be in the same room as for more than a few minutes. The head of the clan's son wears a constant scowl, as though the whole world has somehow affronted him simply by being there. In fact, she's not sure she's seen him smile once in their three meetings, and she wonders briefly if he is even capable of it as she watches him where he stands with her older brother and his wife looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. _That, at least, we can agree on_.

He hasn't looked at her once in the time they have been here, nearly half an hour spent watching the people around them with a crinkled nose as though they're something disgusting or holding private conferences with his father that only seem to deepen his scowl. She wonders if the kimono and elaborate bun weren't a waste of time and effort, as it doesn't matter how she looks if her plighted doesn't appreciate it at least a little.

"Fugaku-sama looks so handsome," Tamayori whispers, suddenly right next to her, and Mikoto jumps. Her cousin is much younger than her and seems to have some sort of worship for Mikoto's future husband. _She can marry him then_ , she thinks bitterly.

"Hush, Tamayori. Mikoto-chan has eyes, she can see for herself how her husband looks," whispers her other cousin, Toyotama. As opposed to Tamayori, Toyotama is a couple of years older than her, and just lost her own lover. Mikoto's heart stings at the thought of her dead teammate.

She turns to see her cousins standing with her sister right behind her, and takes a step away from them. She wants to thank Toyotama, but instead lets her eyes drift once more to the man she will be marrying in only minutes and then dips her head forward respectfully. "It's alright, Toyotama-hime." It's a leftover nickname from their childhood, a way of affectionately teasing her for her spoiled nature. "A compliment to my husband is a compliment to me."

"There's no need to act so formal, Mikoto-chan. There's no way Fugaku can hear you from over there, especially not over all of that brooding." She can't stop herself from snorting, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth. With her younger sister and cousin's love of her fiancé and her parents' quick adoration of the clan heir, it's nice to feel like someone is on her side (even if, technically, she isn't supposed to have a side). She gives her cousin a grateful smile after a moment while she helps her into the uchikake, commenting on the vibrant gold vines that twine up her sleeves, royal blue flowers blossoming from them.

She glances between the other girls with wet eyes, sniffing and willing herself not to cry if only because that would ruin the make-up she already struggled with her mother to get on. After she is married, the women around her will only be considered secondary family, an afterthought that should be remembered only after her husband's family is properly cared for. Where she will see her parents-in-law at least once a week for the rest of their lives ( _or mine, whichever ends first_ , she reflects miserably), she will be lucky to see her own parents a couple of times a year after today.

She glances around the room. The group is relatively large, at least when she compares it in her memory to Teyaki and Uruchi's wedding, which, to her credit, she attended when she was only ten.

Toyotama and Tamayori are her only cousins there, but Teyaki and Uruchi stand in a corner bickering about something while Hazuki continues to sneak glances at Fugaku from a corner. Fugaku has one living brother and a cousin she hasn't spoken to yet, closer to her in age than her soon-to-be husband is, and she sees them lingering near him as though the stern man might shield them from something. Reizan looks like possibly the only person here other than the couple that would rather be somewhere else and Mikoto almost finds it comforting. On the other hand, Fugaku's mother already sits near the altar with a disapproving look that Mikoto is sure she will receive many times over the course of both her wedding and her marriage. Her parents chat in a corner with Tsuneyoshi, her mother laughing exaggeratedly every once in a while.

She once again lets herself rest her eyes on Fugaku. Despite the ugly frown on his face, he does look rather handsome, though he has clearly been fussing with the tie of his montsukihakama which has nestled at least an inch closer to his hips. It seems he is just as nervous as she is about the arrangement, though he's much better at hiding it than she is, and she finds it somewhat adorable. This is the first time she's thought such a thing about the man she is to marry and she lets a small smile find its way onto her lips.

It's hardly another minute before the shrine maiden raises her arms, calling all attention to her. Mikoto is sure she recognizes her from somewhere but finds herself being impatiently swept to the front of a procession by her mother until she stands in front of their collective family alongside Fugaku. In front of them are ritual musicians and the shrine maiden, heading a line to lead them to the Naka shrine.

Mikoto keeps her head respectfully bowed while they walk and when they settle in front of the altar, shrine maiden standing to their left while an old kannushi stands to their right and their closest family members (his brother, her cousins and sister) gather around a pair of tables with sake and peaches. The priest moves to purify them and the shrine around them, and she stays silent, still staring at her toes. Her white socks have been abandoned due to the abnormal heat in the middle of September, about the only thing that hasn't been done entirely to Shintō tradition.

She doesn't properly look up at the old man until he has already finished his announcement to the okami and the maiden has finished her dance, hearing the polite clapping of she and her betrothed's respective family members. There's a knowing look in his dark eyes as though he might be able to see into her soul and watch the nervousness that twists her gut and threatens to make her nauseous at her own wedding ceremony. She pulls her eyes from his, choosing to focus instead on his hands as he moves to pour the first nuptial cup of sake. Her soon-to-be husband's drink is quick, three sips that she hardly catches out of the corner of her eye before he passes her the small glass.

The first sip, her first ever taste of alcohol as she was too busy having this marriage arranged for her on her twentieth birthday and has been too busy organizing the whole ceremony and officially finishing her career as a shinobi since then, is bitter on her tongue. The second is easier, but still burns on its way down her throat. When she finishes the third, she notices that her hands are no longer shaking as the priest takes the cup from her, gently resting it on the altar once more. She is passed the second cup first, slightly larger than the last, and chooses to take her time with her three sips if only for the withering look Fugaku thinks he is being subtle about next to her. He once again takes no time at all with it, seeming almost hasty as he gives it back to the old man, who looks almost amused. She can tell the same playfulness is in her own eyes as she watches Fugaku take the third, final cup.

Taking a small step back from them, the kannushi meets Fugaku's eyes and she feels herself straighten in response. "Groom, Uchiha Fugaku, you this woman marry and become her partner. Will you in peaceful times and during sickness, this person love, this person respect, this person comfort, this person help, until death? Do you promise to fulfill?" She wonders if she imagines the way that Fugaku's eyes flicker to her face for a moment, the first time he's really looked at her the whole ceremony.

"Yes, I promise," he says after a minute. This time when he looks at her, he allows his gaze to linger for a moment, and she knows that she shouldn't flush under her husband's gaze but still feels warmth flood her cheeks.

"Bride, Uchiha Mikoto, you this man marry and become his partner. Will you in peaceful times and during sickness, this person love, this person respect, this person comfort, this person help, until death? Do you promise to fulfill?"

She snaps her eyes back to the kannushi's face, her cheeks still warm, and pipes, "Yes, I promise!" Her voice is at least half an octave higher than usual and she _knows_ she's imagining the smirk on Fugaku's face out of the corner of her eye because when she half-turns her head toward him, he has a carefully blank look. Still, it is a small comfort to think that he might be so human as not to frown all of the time.

She notices that Toyotama and Tamayori are definitely snickering to themselves quietly from the table at which they stand and dips her head forward in shame.

The priest steps forward to make his offering to the kami, a branch of sakaki with thick leaves, one of the results of the end of Summer warmth. He kneels in front of the altar and dips his own head in a silent prayer before rotating the tamagushi in his hands so the stem points to the altar and resting it on the table. Finally, he bows lowly twice, claps twice, bows once more, and stands to leave. Her husband does the same in much less time (she wonders if he rushes through everything) and then it is her turn to make an offering to the gods.

She takes the tamagushi from the priest with steady hands and a straight back, but her eyes are on his nose as she murmurs a low thanks. She kneels in front of the altar, her eyes not moving from Fugaku's branch as she takes a moment to wonder what he prayed for. With a deep breath, she lowers her head. _Izanagi-kami-sama and Izanami-kami-sama, please watch over my husband and I. Please allow my husband to love me as you, Izanagi-kami-sama, loved Izanami-kami-sama, willing to travel to Yomi-no-kuni just to see me once again. Please allow me the strength to destroy a thousand lives if I so wish it as you, Izanami-kami-sama, did in the afterlife, and my husband the wits to always be my equal as Izanagi-kami-sama was. Please allow us to be as plentiful as you, in life and death, in wealth and family... Perhaps not so many children._

Allowing the smallest of smiles to grace her lips, she turns the tamagushi in her hands to rest it on the altar on its stem and bows so lowly her nose almost touches the floor, then claps and bows again and stands.

Fugaku doesn't look her in the eyes when he puts the ring on her finger, his eyes lingering somewhere between her forehead and the flowers in her hair, and she similarly watches his fingers when she slides his on. They are the sort of thing that no one, especially a shinobi, would wear on a daily basis, but an important part of the ceremony that their mothers both insisted upon anyway. While she can ignore her own mother, once Yuko wishes something, it must be.

She can feel her mother-in-law's disapproving glare against her back the moment she thinks her name and wonders not for the first time if the woman might be psychic. She is itching to look over her shoulder at the woman but forces herself to stare forward at the kannushi again as he gives his final words before they are all led away again by the shrine maiden and her procession.

"With these prayers and these rings, Uchiha Fugaku and Uchiha Mikoto are no longer man and woman, but husband and wife."

She thinks this way of saying it is particularly daunting.

**Author's Note:**

> The traditional vows were hard to translate exactly into English.
> 
> I'll probably write the Shinzokuhai-no-gi tomorrow.


End file.
